Surrender
by Her Name Is Erika
Summary: He takes a picture of it in his mind, among the other pictures of her that he shoves in the back of his mind. It’s weird, and almost twisted for him to be so intent on having her.
1. I

**A/N: New oneshot. I think I promised this a while ago but never got around to writing it. I'm in the library, and I'm really dying of boredom, so here's it is. I realize now that all my stories are a delicate balance of DL and QL. It's kind of onesided. It's based on a song. It's based on "Surrender" by Billy Talent, so listen as you read. Enjoy. I've decided to turn this into a twoshot, possibly. We'll see. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. Nothing at all.**

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**Surrender**

**One**

He sees her.

He sees her, reading an insanely big book, as her brown eyes hidden behind glasses are concentrated and her pale pink, glossed lips in pursed in such deep thought. He takes a picture of it in his mind, among the other pictures of her that he shoves in the back of his mind. It's weird, and almost twisted for him to be so intent on having her.

Then again, not really.

Because he flashes Daddy's cash around, making sure he lets everyone know that he can get what whatever he wants, and won't stop until he has what he's always wanted. And it's been her. He catches her, still reading that book on Quantum something… and smirks to himself. This time, he won't have to fight so hard to bump the boyfriend out of the picture.

He always has the same type of girl, and it makes him go from bored to uninterested to just absolutely frustrated, and even angry.

"_I'm just this close to loosing my sweetie!" she exclaims because like the rest of them, they're trapped. He lays on the couch by the wide-paneled windows, and discreetly rolls his eyes. "Just a couple of spicy tuna, and yellowtails, and boom… I'm Mark's ex-girlfriend!"_

"_It's pretty ironic since you trapped us in here, you freak!" he wants to yell just to shut her up. He wants to yell that because it will give us a strange sense of satisfaction. He'll hurt her again, and cut her deeply the second time…but he will some control over her feelings, and emotions. _

_And he likes being in control. _

_Instead of him yelling at her, he finds these words tumbling out of his mouth._

"_If you're so freaked about what Mark and this Maria-chick are up to, send someone to spy on 'em…"_

She's different.

Unique.

Like anyone he's ever seen before.

But he wonders why it took him so long, he's just starting to realize that he's incredibly slow, but he's caught up to speed now. He's caught up, and knows what's up. And he knows that she still has her boyfriend. She still has her boyfriend, and it angers him to no end. It constantly picks at him while he sleeps, as he sits in class drowning out whatever teacher is there, and even playing basketball. It's some divine taunting, because basketball was their first major encounter, but not their last, he promises.

He does things to irk her because he can. So he cuts in front of her in the coffee line just for a reaction. So, when he wakes up from the nerve pinch, he realizes her hand is incredibly soft and he has to learn how to do that – for undisclosed reasons. But mostly, the softness of her hands stick with him more. His curiousity seems to jump at an all time high, and is intrigued on what would happen if he holds that hand… keeping her all to himself like the selfish bastard he knows he is, but it doesn't affect him or faze him.

Nothing really does, except now, as he watches her slightly chew on her bottom lip in deep concentration, and she twirls the clear blue pen around between her fingers. But it's won who has the advantage – it's _his_ pen that she's twirling around in those soft hands. Broken pen cap, and all. It's his other compulsive habit, but he doesn't seem to mind.

He's surprised at how desperate he's become.

Desperation is foreign to him, and he can't process it because of the other bimboes, and the ones with heads so hollow after his attention, and time. It bores him, because they're all the same. It bores the hell out of him, because he knows what will happen: flirt, she giggles and says the typical, "you're so hot" compliment (as if he didn't already know that), he flirts back again, winks, and gets her number. And then after a date, he'll throw her away like yesterday's news.

Partly because it actually did happen yesterday, and he never keeps _anything_ too long.

Until now.

It's all a game to him. He plays because it's the only thing he can do without literally driving himself with thoughts of what she'll come up with next. He never seems to know and that sucks. Those girls are merely pawns in his little quest to really get what he wants.

_Every touch, every smile, every frown…_

Everything he does has a motive.

He knows why he sides with her on the matter of a radio he could care less about. Ten thousand dollars is nothing but pocket change, but he sides with her just to be within a certain distance of him. High-fiving her in victory and then hugging her is bittersweet – that short moment of warmth is gone. He finds it strange since he is a born Californian. He's damn smart and knows very well that he's screwing with her.

But he's always liked being in control of things, and thinks Henry VIII is a hero (any man that can have rapid successive wives, and then decapitate them all is…not that he would pull something like that. He has limits). He knows that he's messing with her emotions, her thoughts, her feelings, and he enjoys it.

He notices how pink her cheeks get when they lock eyes for a split second in the middle of chemistry – screw notes, his photographic memory hasn't failed him yet, and is thankful because he can remember every detail – her curious brown eyes always searching for more knowledge right down to the freckle situated on the top corner of her top lip.

Her boyfriend can't do that, now can he?

He gets a high from being on top, and will no one stop him.

Not the blonde saint that wishes goodwill and peace unto men yada, yada, yada. And scolds him on the side.

Or his own mother.

Still, he watches her.

And will keep his dirty little secret to himself. He'll keep it, and indulge in the pleasure he feels no guilt about. He feels no guilt, and is determined to get those loving gazes, and kisses all to himself. He has a lot of pretty things, but none of them like her.

Determination will be his motivation.

Determination _is_ his motivation.

_I think I found a flower in a field of weeds…_

He knows she's crumbling, and he'll be there to catch her mere seconds before she hits her rock bottom. Hiding behind her large book of some sort of science he doesn't care for, he knows.

It only takes time before Quinn Pensky can surrender to Logan Reese…

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**A/N: I actually ship both, so I like this. Please review. As I mentioned before, it only takes a couple seconds to type a simple review – good or bad. I'll take it gracefully. While I post this, I'm currently a quarter done the next chapter of Behind Green Eyes, and I'm working on my DL two-shot…the second and last part. So, check that out. It's called Anger Management. I just updated Brothers too, so review that too if you haven't. **

**Show your appreciation. It'll make my day as I grieve over my lucky blue scarf (sniffles and blows nose on tissue). Review my Letters To You, if you haven't read it. Trust me when I say that it's a good read. It only got six reviews and I'm already depressed. So make me smile, will ya? Pretty please?**

**Review…**

**-Erika**

**PS. This will be a twoshot. **


	2. II

**A/N: Second and last part of Surrender. I'm really proud of it, and it actually was very tiring to write. I really tired to write the way Quinn probably would, without making her out of her character. I hope you enjoy it. Remember to wipe the steam off of your monitor when you're done, lol. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Zoey 101, durrr.**

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**Surrender**

**Two**

She's the typical girl to have routines and plans.

She doesn't have them. In fact, she needs them. She needs them to function and keep track pf anything that may spring up. Not that she doesn't like surprises, but her natural curiousity keeps her thirst for knowledge going and perhaps, unquenchable. Being trapped in an endless cycle may seem – okay, it is a bore – but it works for her. No sudden occurrences can cause her discomfort or unhappiness simply because she doesn't know the order in which her own life events are sequenced.

Routines and organization keeps her sane. It keeps her thoughts in check because now her head can't wander into unauthorized territory. She can't daydream and fantasize about **him** to her dismay – a sculpted body, those piercing hazel eyes she has to_ force_ herself tear her gaze away from, an attitude so confident and delinquent that it intrigues her.

Curiosity killed the cat…

She sure isn't a feline, and she knows that she won't die. Death is too premature for her anyway, and it was absurd for her to do something like pick out which coffin she'd like her body to be put in. See?

Absurd and completely out-of-the-norm.

It almost angers and frustrates her because she tries, and tries. Her efforts are dashed when she kisses the great boyfriend she has, but can feel nothing. She can't feel anything, and she questions herself, asking herself if it's possible to fall out of love with someone.

_You have a boyfriend, _she scolds herself, trying to bring herself back down to reality because that's where she wants to be. Alternate reality has never worked for her anyway because it's full of _maybes_ and not enough _defintelys_ and _possibles_. Reality is chock full of facts. _He treats you so well._

And to her, facts are gold.

The golden truth is that she's a good Seattle-born girl that has a set of parents, an alpaca that she adores very much. She spends her leisure time making odd things – they're not so odd to her – but she likes being creative and mixing those mixtures and compounds to create something totally different. Part of her own little truth is knowing she has a boyfriend that's plain in his own way, but she can live with it.

That's her routine, and after two years it's been disrupted.

It's been disrupted by him, and although she's probably the smartest student at PCA – besides Miles Brody –, she can't comprehend it, not through science or even common sense. She sighs, bouncing a basketball in the eerily cold California night. Due to her own research she knows that nights can be breezy and cold, so it doesn't surprise her. Suddenly, she's feeling things that she's never felt before.

The irony seems to be way too obvious. She frowns slightly.

**He** haunts her, and is sure that he's getting some twisted pleasure from being in her dreams all the time. It's insane that he would want her. She's not air-headed and vain, her bosoms are C cup, but they're not in the D area. She's independent and proud. There are enough Paris Hiltons and Jessica Simpsons as it is.

She's her own person, and basketball means nothing, although she's shooting basketballs, making the basket every time. It's not luck, just basic physics and a perfect trajectory every time. The orange basketball sails from her creamy complexioned hands and she's greeted with a light swishing sound. The basketball rolls away, distantly bouncing.

So much for peace and tranquility because his voice alarms her from behind.

He's wearing that confident smirk, and his hair manages to stay disgustingly _perfect_. What he wants, he gets. She wouldn't feel so guilty for being so weak in the knees around him if he simply didn't exist. To the contrary, he exists very much so and even though she doesn't want to known, she'll about it. PCA is a wide campus, and word travels fast than baking soda and vinegar fizzles when mixed.

"_He's totally hot!"_

"_Ohmygosh, have you seen his abs while he works out…?"_

"_He's got the sexiest eyes, ever – even hotter than Orlando Bloom's…"_

Even her roommates acknowledge he isn't hideous, but they didn't pay attention while they fall for – consciously or subconsciously – the green-eyed bushy-haired boy-next-door and the sweet jock addicted to junk food.

He could have any girl, so it's completely ludicrous that he'd fall for her.

She turns around, and sure enough, she's right. He raises an eyebrow, looking at her.

"What're you doing here?" he questions her, and suddenly she's self-conscious even though she's wearing nothing but a gray tank top that reads "In your face, Einstein!" and sweatpants and flip flips. Her brunette locks are devoid of her usual braids, as the wind blows her hair around. Her heart seems to pound at an insanely high rate, and she's grateful for the darkness that is concealing already flushed pale skin.

"I… don't know," she answers, quietly. "…I guess, I just wandered off, maybe."

She's not lying. She really doesn't know what force draws her to an empty basketball court, as it's lit under a velvety dark sky. It's probably the solitude and all the thinking she could do…as if she doesn't do that enough already. Her guilt is already high enough, but it jumps even more when she lies to her oh so wonderful boyfriend. The lies seem to pour out of mouth, and the time she felt nothing. No repercussions. No feeling.

She feels almost cold on the inside, as it numbs her conscience for a while. When her conscience is fully thawed, it leaves a stream of _I told you so_ playing over and over like a record player on loop. Maybe some divine taunting that **he** magically shows up.

"You're obviously smart, right?"

It's her turn to be confused, as her eyebrows crinkle together in confusion.

"Well, don't the Quinnventions speak for themselves?" she shoots back at him, rhetorically. She's surprised at how composed she sounds, but composed is so far from the truth. "Where are you going with this?"

She sees him look away, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He shrugs with an air of car-free vibe, and before long those hazel eyes are meeting with her simple brown ones. He smirks at her.

"I don't know. I was just thinking that if you're so smart and you know all this stuff, do you ever get bored with it? Do you ever just say, "screw it" and wait for something unexpected to spring up?"

Maybe she should do it. Just not care about her sacred routines, and leave everything to chance. It would contradict her beliefs; she doesn't believe in luck or chance and believes that everything that happens has a reason why.

But maybe…

Just maybe…

Too many_ maybes_ and not enough _definites_.

Maybe, she'd want to, but that's a recipe for insanity and she simply won't listen if that's the product. The distance between them seems to narrow with every passing second.

"No…" she replies, snapping herself out of her short reverie. "Why would I do that?"

"Because the life of a psychic must be suck," he jokes, with that same smirk on his voice. His voice is smooth, and the sound waves seem to bounce off her ears, giving her the illusion that it's surround sound. She feels a pair of toned arms around her, and she lets out a shaky breath. This is beyond what saving her rationale can do. Her rationale can't tell her she has a boyfriend – it seems that he's frozen that. "…and besides, I want you…Unexpected, but the truth…"

She's feeling things she's never experienced as she's backed into a wall. Literally. His lips are dangerous close to her neck, as she lets out a moan against her will. He kisses the soft skin of her neck, as she feels him suck and gently bite the skin there. She closes her eyes, hoping that she's dreaming.

She's dreaming, and soon she'll wake up and shake every other Logan-centered fantasy that plays in her psyche continuously during her REM cycle.

She can't surrender to him – she can't surrender to the hunger, and the immense craving that the school player has left her with. It's not normal, and she can't afford to break her boyfriend's heart.

What will he say about her new-found hickey left by not him, but none other than Logan Reese?

"Logan… please…" she says, in between breaths. Damn her body for betraying her so! His eyes explore her body, as she feels a surge of pleasure she's never experienced with Mark before. His lips kiss her neck, leaving the beginning of a hickey, and then along her jawline and then her lips. Her eyes are wide, giving her that doe-eyed deer-in-the-headlights look. "Are you intoxicated?"

She shivers, as he softly runs his hand over her cheek.

"No, Quinn. I'm actually really sober. I just know what I'm sure of right now…" he answers her, looking her up and down. "I know what I want. I want you, and will continue lusting after you until I have you…"

"I have Mark, Logan, and I love him…"

"Yeah, I'm sure you do," he replies, with an amused laugh. Quinn doesn't share his amusement, and is actually torn, a bit annoyed with his condescending attitude. "Not being the devoted girlfriend, are we? Did you hear yourself, Quinn? I bet Mark doesn't make you moan loudly like that? Honestly, if it were up to you, you would have let me _fuck_ you. Right here. Right now…"

The nerve!

Mark is the greatest thing to ever happen to her. She gets enraged, her face turning her. He should consider himself lucky that Zoey confiscates her laser watch…again. This isn't supposed to happen!

Quinn is frustrated, so frustrated that she just wants to scream. She wants to scream it to the heavens that the boy she just slapped in anger – correction, _justified_ anger – is right. She wants to scream until there is no more breath left in her, and with her breath, the ravenous hunger can escape with her.

She refuses to surrender, even though she's pinned to that wall, her body calling out for another hit.

"Okay!" she cries, frustrated. "I want you!"

"Tell me again, Quinn. Let me hear it…"

"I…need you. I want to touch me, and kiss me," she complies, as the tears of guilt build in her brown eyes. His lips curl up into a satisfied smile, as he brushes the tears away.

She's broken Mark's heart.

Quinn has never been the heartbreaking type, but she's broken a boy's heart for the first time, while she crashes her lips against Logan's ravenously.

She kisses him, as her arms are snaked around her neck, as he plays with the bottom of her shirt. He runs his finger across her midsection, as her breath hitches. The coolness of his skin contrasts her warmth. Tongues wrestle, and she makes him moan into her mouth as she combs through his oh so ridiculously perfect hair.

"Say my name…" he instructs, huskily in her ear. "Say my name, Quinn…"

She's drowning in some forbidden ecstasy and seems to be on a high.

"…_Logan…"_

She surrenders…

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**A/N: Okay, I'm starting seriously nod off. Review like crazy, please? Excuse any errors or mistakes you may see. There are 41 other stuff to read and review! Check out my latest creation "Around the Clock". The first chapter is long but worth it. I promise – I need feedback!**

**Lots of reviews equals incredibly psyched and giddy authoress named Erika!**

**Hope that cleared things up for you. **

**-Erika **


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